


Reluctant Bedrest

by Pacifia



Series: Golden Age One-shots [8]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gen, Sibling Bonding, Sickfic, reluctant bedrest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:48:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27202705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pacifia/pseuds/Pacifia
Summary: Edmund is sick. So is Peter.
Relationships: Edmund Pevensie & Peter Pevensie, Edmund Pevensie & Susan Pevensie
Series: Golden Age One-shots [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1985065
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	Reluctant Bedrest

Edmund coughed, despite his attempts to stifle it. Cold was an abomination. A curse. Worse than Jadis' cold glare, and her wand piercing through him. He _hated_ colds! He felt that horrible tingling sensation in his nose again, and held his breath. Five seconds. Ten seconds. It was receding. He could win this battle!

"AA— _choo_!"

Or maybe not.

"Go away, Peter. I hate you," Edmund told his brother, crossing his arms. Peter just laughed. He was balancing the bowl filled with Lu's soup in his hands. He set it down on the bedside table, covered it with a thin plate—because he knew Edmund wouldn't be drinking it any time soon—and sat down on the armchair. He adjusted the coal pieces in the hearth with the metallic bar. Then turned to his brother.

"And why, my dear brother, do you hate me?"

"Because you won't let me leave my room! You _know_ how much I despise bedrests!"

Peter shrugged. "You have more than fifty books—" Peter glanced at the pile of books, some torn, some missing pages, some placed with dignity. "You've read _all_ of them?" Peter asked in sheer wonder.

"Yes."

"Well, Edmund, that's—"

"I don't want your flattery! I want you to tell the guards to let me leave!"

Peter frowned. "You tried to leave, didn't you?" Otherwise, how would we know Peter had four guards posted outside his chambers.

"Orieus threatened to tie me to my bed."

"Serves you right," Peter said, chuckling. "And…"

"Peter?"

Peter covered his mouth. No. Absolutely not.

"Peter?"

No! It couldn't be! He'd been so careful! He'd been drinking boiled water for Aslan's sake!

"Peter, you're scaring me. What is it?"

When he couldn't feel the tickles in his nose anymore, Peter breathed out heavily. He rubbed his nose, and said, "I—AA— _CHOO!"_

Edmund was already out of his bed and ready to sprint out of the room, screaming for Susan. But Peter grabbed him, yanked him back to his bed, and pinned him down. Even if he was sick, he was much stronger than his little brother. "You're sick! You can't just _not_ tell her! It's not _fair_!" Edmund growled, thrashing against his brother.

"I'll make you a deal."

Edmund went limp, muscles relaxing. He looked at him with narrowed eyes, looked him up and down, and said, "I'm listening."

"I'll let you go out. Only for an hour."

"Three."

"One."

"Four."

"Two."

"Two and a half."

"Two," Peter said firmly, ending the argument. "But you can't tell Susan that I'm sick. I hate bedrests more than you." Peter sighed. And then seeing Edmund's amused expression, he furrowed his brows. A cough came from behind him. And Peter squeezed his eyes shut, praying to the Lion that it mightn't be who he thought it was. Slowly, he turned, and his shoulders instantly slumped in defeat.

Edmund giggled.

Susan only shook her head in total disappointment and said, "You're staying in bed. One room?"

Edmund and Peter glanced at each other. "Yes," Peter sighed.

* * *

"Edmund, quit chewing. I'm trying to sleep!"

"It's not my fault! The cereal's crunchy!" Edmund said with his mouth full of cereal and milk.

"You'll choke if you talk with your mouth full," Peter said, covering his ears with a pillow. "And if you don't stop flipping the pages, I swear I'll tell Susan you're feverish again."

Edmund's eyes widened and he hurriedly swallowed his cereal, wiped his mouth carelessly with his sleeve, and put the book under the bed, letting it join the already-read-books-pile. Then he sighed, laying down on the bed, propping himself on one elbow. He turned to face his brother. "Peter, I'm bored."

"Just go to sleep," Peter replied, his voice sounding like a distant echo from under the covers. How could he even breathe wrapped up that completely? "I have a horrible headache, Ed. And your voice sounds like Lucy trying to play the flute. And if I die, it'll be your fault."

"How about a game of chess?" Edmund asked, eyes hopeful and earnest. But then he realized Peter couldn't see him and frowned again. "Please?" he whined.

"What did I just tell you, Edmund? I have a headache. And a fever. And I don't think I can stifle more sneezes—AA— _Choo!"_ The covers moved, raising up with Peter's elbow, as he rubbed his nose. "Please, just go to sleep. Or at least let me sleep."

Edmund sighed. Then his eyes lit up, a curious idea coming to him. "We can sneak out."

"No."

"No? You don't want to sneak out? Peter, it's snowing outside!"

Peter's raspy voice said, "And you're a mad-case who thinks it's a good idea to go out when it's _snowing._ " Peter pushed off the covers, and sat against the head of the bed. Edmund grimaced. His hair could be mistaken for a bird's nest, and eyes looked gooey and sore, nose red. All in all, he looked absolutely miserable. Edmund felt sorry for him.

Edmund tried to brighten him up, "But you can wear two robes. And the warm slippers Lu made for you? And a scarf to keep your neck warm! Oh, I promise it'll be good, Peter. Please?"

"No, Edmund. I can't even breathe properly. AA— _CHOO!"_ Peter rubbed his nose again. He rested his head against the bed. "I think I might be dying."

"It's just a cold," Edmund said, trying to shove away the grim thought. "You're not dying. And I can prove it." He hauled up from the bed and raced to Peter's side of the room. But Peter moved away from him.

"Ed, you've only just recovered. I don't want you to get sick again. You should—Edmund!" Peter exclaimed when he yanked him up from the bed by his wrist. Edmund caught him when he staggered on his feet and led him to the wardrobe. Edmund carefully placed his hand on the hinge of the wardrobe's door and told him to hold on to it tightly. He opened the wardrobe, and Peter's knees buckled as his brother rummaged through the wardrobe.

"Peter, you alright?"

"Yeah, just kneeling on the cold floor. But alright."

"Peter! Get up!" Edmund exclaimed, trying to get his brother to stand on his feet. But Peter limped on the ground again.

"I told you. I can't go. I'm sick!"

"Peter!" Edmund exclaimed when his eyes began drooping. Within seconds, he was completely lax on the ground, curled up into a ball. Edmund sighed. And then the door creaked.

"Ahem."

Edmund whipped around.

"Why is Peter sleeping on the floor?"

Edmund licked his lips and clapped his hands together, delaying his reply, his mind working on possible excuses. "Um…Well, you see, Susan, Peter wanted to sneak out…"

* * *

"Move your pawn already, Ed. It's the only logical move!"

"That's why I don't like to play with you. You bottlehead, you just told me what your next move is. You want me to move my pawn, so your bishop will have a clear path to the C4 and then you can knock off my defenceless knight." Edmund smirked. "And it's not the only logical move, brother. You are too busy planning your attacks, you forget to pay attention to your defences. There goes your rook," he said, knocking Peter's golden rook off the board with his Queen.

"I hate you," Peter said, turning away from the game.

"You can't just abandon the game, Peter! You'd run away from a battlefield if you start losing?"

Peter grinned cheekily. "This is not a battlefield, Ed. This is a stupid game. And I'm never going to beat you in it. So why ever try?"

Edmund sighed. "Yeah, whatever. I'll just ask Susan to play. But she says she doesn't have the time," Edmund said, picking up the heavy golden pieces and then depositing them into the small leather bag. "Without us, she's had to manage everything by herself. The meetings with the Archenlandish lords and ladies. Court hearings—I know they can get dull sometimes, and they've been asking for my presence, she's told me. And there's so much paperwork!"

Peter lied down on the bed again, pulling up the covers by their hems. "Sure Lucy's helping her."

Edmund placed the board and chess pieces on the table beside the bed and said, "Lucy's twelve, Peter."

"You were twelve when you persuaded Terebinthia's King to sell us their diamonds at _reasonable_ prices. You reduced the prices to half!"

"But Lucy's also helping the rabbits start their carrot farms," Edmund replied. He stood up from the bed. Walking to his own bed, he said, "You're feeling better?"

"I still think I'm dying," Peter replied wryly. "Ed?" he asked when his brother didn't reply, and merely crawled underneath his covers. "Edmund?"

"You keep saying you'll die and you will."

"Oh, Edmund—"

"Bother, Peter. I want to sleep."

"It was just a joke, you know."

Edmund huffed and turned to his side, not interested in listening to his brother's apology. He shut his eyes and tried to relax. As his breathing evened and he felt sleep creeping closer and closer, he smiled, ready to drift into his dreams. But his brother chose that moment to speak again.

"Ed?"

Edmund remained quiet.

But then a gentle shove made him grunt. And he sat up. Peter was holding snow boots in his hands. "How about we sneak out?"

Edmund gulped. "Sure?"

"No."

"Then let's go."

* * *

"She's coming!"

"Edmund, lock the door!"

"Oh, Aslan help us."

"Lock the bloody door and get your boots off!"

"She's too close. We're doomed!"

"Lock. The. _Door_!"

"I think I'm going to faint."

* * *

Susan greeted the guards outside Edmund's room with, "Good Morning." She turned to the faun, smiling at him. "Have they been making trouble, Rill?"

"Some strange noises. But that's all," Rill answered.

"Strange noises?"

"I think they're having a fight, Majesty."

Susan furrowed her brows, and then thanked the faun for his services, telling him to have some rest. She would look after her brothers. When the guards bowed and left, she turned the doorknob. Only to find it locked. She frowned in concern and knocked. "Ed? Peter?"

She sighed and removed her necklace. She used the spare key that dangled from it to open the door. And entered.

"Edmund? Peter?"

She moved steadily towards Edmund's bed. The pile of damp clothes and snow-covered boots hidden behind the wardrobe did not go unnoticed. "Edmund?"

A sleepy voice replied from under the blankets, "Susan?"

"You haven't been sneaking out, have you?"

"No?"

She coughed, looking at the bulge on the other bed. "Peter?"

No reply.

"Peter?"

"I think he's asleep, Susan."

"Well, I'm waking him then. Peter!"

A half-stifled cough answered her. "Can I get some soup? And we're feeling fine. So, maybe let us go out tomorrow?" Peter asked, his voice seeming distant and raspy.

Susan smiled. Starting to walk out of the room, she said, "You're lucky the court hearings have exhausted me, Edmund."

Peter shot up from his bed, his cloak dripping with water. "What about me?"

Susan turned. "You almost let our brother freeze to death."

"But it's not like I dragged him out! He was with me on this!" Peter said, giving his chuckling brother a glare.

"Well, it's bad for you I enjoy being called the High Queen," she replied as she left the room.

"High Queen? _High Queen?!_ That's ridiculous! Susan, come back here!"

Edmund watched in great amusement as his brother tried to run after their sister, but tripped, and got tangled in his blankets.

" _Susan!"_


End file.
